Her story is valid, important, and needs to be shared. My personal journey is very different from hers, but on my journey, I have come upon many...many...who have had to live through horrors similar to the upbringing Tracey was forced to endure.
Tracey is one of the most courageous women I have had the privilege to know, and I am honored to share Wings Like Eagles with her every Monday.
Tracey's account is graphic and raw, and is not suitable for young or sensitive readers. I give her posts a strong PG-13 rating.
From the time I can remember, I had no power. Either I was born into submission, or I was woven that way in the womb. I dunno.
It seemed that from the earliest time I could remember, I was three....and people would always be the boss of me. My sister was five years older. My mother was a selfish, grown child, and poverty gave others the right to desecrate me even further. Kids would hate me. Cuz I was dirty. Ugly. Stinky. Holes in my clothes. Teachers would hate me because the subject of me made them uncomfortable. I was a leper. Donations would be made to appease their guilt. Lysol would be sprayed on me, and dirty looks would be shot at me.
It was my mother. She was my bully. She emotionally raped me, I have come to realize. Her neglect would stab my soul repeatedly. Her pain and loathing of herself would trickle down into my life. I would pick up the bill for the harm he had caused. My grandfather. See, my mother was wasted. She didn't get it. She was diseased. Soul sick. Mentally ill. Forgotten, and discarded. We were drug into her living hell. So I reckon you could say, God was preparing me all along to hold this torch.
It seemed that from the earliest time I could remember, I was three....and people would always be the boss of me. My sister was five years older. My mother was a selfish, grown child, and poverty gave others the right to desecrate me even further. Kids would hate me. Cuz I was dirty. Ugly. Stinky. Holes in my clothes. Teachers would hate me because the subject of me made them uncomfortable. I was a leper. Donations would be made to appease their guilt. Lysol would be sprayed on me, and dirty looks would be shot at me.
It was my mother. She was my bully. She emotionally raped me, I have come to realize. Her neglect would stab my soul repeatedly. Her pain and loathing of herself would trickle down into my life. I would pick up the bill for the harm he had caused. My grandfather. See, my mother was wasted. She didn't get it. She was diseased. Soul sick. Mentally ill. Forgotten, and discarded. We were drug into her living hell. So I reckon you could say, God was preparing me all along to hold this torch.
No voice. No understanding. No friends. No hope. No joke.
I was falling deeper and deeper into sadness. Lost. Useless. The scowls. The cruel laughter. The shame. I tried tellin' my mom how I felt. "That is jest stupid," she would say. "You SHOULDN'T feel that way."
I came to realize I had no right to feel at all. I was a no one. Nothing. Zero. I still have issues with self worth. Value. Void. Zip. Nada. My sister was beautiful, popular. Smart. Funny. Mature. I had found I could never compete with that.
Years past. Same ol' same ol'. I cried in the corner. I insulted myself. Started cutting myself. Doing drugs. Bad relationships. I caused more pain to myself. Used to it. All I knew. Victim. Rag Doll. Non-human. Dog. Rat. Roach.
I became more attractive, but the words and the neglect would remain. Nine years in a bad relationship would drain on me. Age me. Kill me further inside. I deserved to die. Burden. Unwanted. No matter how much my mother had hugged and kissed me, which was the ONLY thing she did right. It would not take away the sting of all the things she DID NOT do: Protect me. Validate me. Prepare me. Guide me. She did none of that. She was lost in her addiction.
I became more attractive, but the words and the neglect would remain. Nine years in a bad relationship would drain on me. Age me. Kill me further inside. I deserved to die. Burden. Unwanted. No matter how much my mother had hugged and kissed me, which was the ONLY thing she did right. It would not take away the sting of all the things she DID NOT do: Protect me. Validate me. Prepare me. Guide me. She did none of that. She was lost in her addiction.
When I was 24, I had left my destructive relationship. My mother had passed. I had met Jason. My future husband. He was a friend to me. Nothing more. He cared about me. He came to find out about my OCD and eating disorders. He still loved me. How was this possible??? He said he was a Christian. That having sex and saying he loved me was something he wanted to wait for. Unreal.
Over the years, he helped to heal the damage. He was a true child of God. He showed me my value. He uplifted me. He encourages me still. He is amazing.
Over the years, he helped to heal the damage. He was a true child of God. He showed me my value. He uplifted me. He encourages me still. He is amazing.
When my first born came home from Kindergarten, she said, "Mama, my friend said I have to give her my cookies and put her jacket away...and not to play with other kids or she won't be my friend." I said, "OH, NO.....SHE DIDN'T!!!" In the famous words of Dr. Phil, This ain't MY first rodeo! She picked the WRONG girl. Mama is very prepared. To equip. To teach. To protect this child. Whatever is goin' on in that girl's house, we will pray for her. But you can imagine what is coming next: This is MY child. And I will be shot first, before someone tries to break her spirit.
My mother's neglect prepared me to know what NOT to do. I was meant for this purpose. To bring awareness to bullying. I am a professional at knowing what to look for. I taught Trinity her value. "You are Smart, Nice, and you are Beautiful. Don't ALLOW anyone to have you feel different. It is about THEM. Nothing to do with you. You know who you are, girl? You are God's child. Take up for your friends. Take up for your brother. It is your job. Love poor children. Share with them. Be like Jesus. He would be proud and that is ALL that matters. No one else's opinion makes a hill of beans, girl."
These are the words I tell myself every day. I am learning to love myself through my husband's eyes, through my kids' eyes, through God's eyes. We are HIS. No one can change that. Tears...I got tears of joy. Praise Him. I am unfinished. But He will complete the work He started. My kids will avoid this torment. They will have big purpose. This world is jest a test. I made it out...with my soul in tact. It was a pure miracle.
These are the words I tell myself every day. I am learning to love myself through my husband's eyes, through my kids' eyes, through God's eyes. We are HIS. No one can change that. Tears...I got tears of joy. Praise Him. I am unfinished. But He will complete the work He started. My kids will avoid this torment. They will have big purpose. This world is jest a test. I made it out...with my soul in tact. It was a pure miracle.
I absolutely LOVE the "OH NO...SHE DIDN'T!!" That is exactly how I would feel if something like that happened with my boys (They are only 9 months old, so it will be a few years at least.) I worry for my children that I won't recognize and be able to teach them what to do when things come up, or that I'll tell them the wrong things because they're right to me. Seeing examples of other survivors being able to see things in their children's lives really helps me with my anxiety over raising my children as well as I can. Thank you for sharing this. :)
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